


a brick, a wall, a school

by imperialhare



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, a happy fic because they were happy once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 18:17:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17492855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperialhare/pseuds/imperialhare
Summary: Scenes and details from the founding of the First and Last University: long ago, Samot and Samothes built a school together.





	a brick, a wall, a school

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iceberry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iceberry/gifts).



> Happy Secret Samol! The prompt was for "something about the university that samothes built for his man" so have a whole bunch of words about the lead-up to and the early days of the university.
> 
> You can read Austin's mini fic about Samothes' library, mentioned in the first scene of this fic, [here](https://twitter.com/austin_walker/status/878829014282096641).

The first library in Hieron belonged to Samothes, king-god of the City of Light, and it existed by the grace of his husband, Samot, god of books and wine. 

It began with Samot, laughing, stooping down to the floor of Samothes’ workshop, gathering up armfuls of scattered papers and diagrams. “It’s a wonder you can find anything in here,” he said, scolding, as he arranged them all into piles on Samothes’ desk.

“Well… I usually don’t,” Samothes admitted, as his husband busied himself unearthing notes that Samothes probably hadn’t looked at in years.

Samot laughed. “How did you ever get along without me? Alright then, here’s what we’re going to do…”

And the two of them sat down side by side and began to organize, compile, and index. Samot looked upon the fruits of Samothes’ work with shining eyes, at the small details and minutiae that he put into every piece he made, each iteration improving and refining. He had watched Samothes at the forge, yes, but to see each step of his process — was it possible to not grow fonder still? And Samothes watched Samot’s careful expression as he sewed and glued sheets together into books, strands of golden hair falling delicately around his face, and so dedicated all the while. 

“Who taught you how to bind books, husband of mine?” Samothes asked, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Samot’s ear.

“My friends did. Mortals.”

A long pause, as Samot threaded the needle again.

“They shouldn’t know how.”

“My love, you would be surprised at what mortals can teach you without even realizing that they know,” Samot said, smiling as he held up a finished book and handed it to Samothes. “There you go. They look much better like this, don’t they?”

Samothes smiled, running his hand over the fabric cover. Something he and Samot made together.

And because Samothes had lived so long and had so many notes (really, so many, it was amazing Samot even had a spot to set down his glass), the finished result of many weeks and months of work between the two of them was an entire library of divine engineering, carefully organized — and for Samot and Samothes’ eyes only.

Well, that was how Samothes wanted it. Samot was not so easy to please.

*

In his daydreams Samot thought of schools, and although he was not an architect he scribbled down drawings of lecture halls and studios, laboratories and workshops, and the mortal students who would come to practice and learn there. The slender spires of his university would reach up to the clouds, and there would be room after room of books, the collected knowledge of both gods and mortals alike, free for all to peruse, to learn from, to study. 

He himself might stand at a lectern in front of a hundred students, or sit in a study room with a small handful of five as they went over the finer details of magical theory together. He had so many things to teach them — and they would have things to teach him, too, whether they knew it or not.

Ah, but…

Samothes would never allow it, would he? 

Right now there was only one “student” in all the world, and only because Samot would teasingly call himself that as Samothes showed him diagrams and notes and bounced ideas off him, all the while glancing hopefully at Samot to see if he thought it was interesting yet. Samot thought of that time spent with his husband fondly, even while it was such an infuriating thing, that Samothes seemed to so enjoy teaching him about his divine engineering, but wouldn’t allow mortals to so much as learn how to forge their own plows. 

Often Samot would contemplate this while slowly moving his hand back and forth, watching the way that the sun gleamed off his wedding band. If he was feeling melodramatic, he might imagine the fight that he and Samothes would have about it — Samothes was supposedly a different man when he lost his temper, after all, and he might lose his temper if Samot told him about schools. Not some poor village school where mortal children might learn the few things Samothes did allow them to know, but a proper school where all the secrets the universe had to offer were pursued and documented in collaboration. Would Samothes laugh? Would he be contemptuous, skeptical, afraid, enraged? Would he warm up to the idea if Samot told him in just the right way, while kissing him and running fingers through his hair? Would he demand that Samot get out of his sight? Samot had to laugh at himself for that particular anxiety, and yet...

And yet, he refrained, for Samothes’ sake. 

And yet, he couldn’t stop himself from dreaming.

*

“Samothes, my dear, let me ask you a question. Would you ever consider making even a single book from your collection available to the public?” Samot set his wine glass down carefully, so that it made the clear sound of glass against wood. Samothes looked at his husband, who was seated in one of the windows of their bedroom, gazing just slightly away from him. 

“That kind of knowledge is dangerous for mortals,” Samothes replied, puzzled by a question that he considered the answer to so obvious that it didn’t need to be asked. But Samot spoke in hypotheticals sometimes, and Samothes liked to humor him sometimes as well. “They can’t be trusted to act responsibly.”

“So you shoulder the burden of their lack. Your ideas are so beautiful, my love, they deserve to be shared — the people would be in awe—”

“The people are already in awe, just from looking upon the sun in the sky. They don’t need to know the details.” And because he couldn’t resist teasing, he added, “Besides, it’s you who enjoys it when men are in awe of you.”

A slight frown creased Samot’s lips, the sort of pretty one that made Samothes’ heart twist with fondness, but he could also tell that Samot was unhappy. He had a particular expression on, the one that meant he was in deep thought but playing it off as nonchalance.

“Maybe so,” he said, tracing the rim of his glass absentmindedly with one finger. “Love, my glass is empty. Would you get me more wine?”

“Oh — yes, of course.”

*

Samothes wasn’t a fool, he noticed it in the way that Samot talked about libraries, about books, even about Samothes’ engineering. He paid close attention to Samot — he could hardly help but pay attention to Samot. He found Samot’s drawings of libraries and schools, tucked away neatly with lists of events and plans, among his poems and letters. 

And so Samothes saw what was coming on the horizon, that Samot would someday tear down the wall that he had built, and Samothes would let him because he loved him.

*

The conversation crept up again, inevitably, because Samot could not stop thinking about it, and he was not the sort of person to hold his tongue. And each time he grew just a little bolder, a little more hopeful that he could sway Samothes’ opinion.

“You had a hand in creating mortals. They have the ability to learn.”

“I suppose so.”

“But you keep knowledge all twisted up so that they can’t even understand it… It seems... cruel.”

“Cruel? Samot, you can be so terribly sentimental. When given access to knowledge, mortals can cause harm to themselves — or to us.”

“By that logic — would you pull out the claws of a cat that was scratching up your furniture?”

“It isn’t the same. Humans aren’t like — cats... they don’t act without understanding that they’re capable of causing harm. I know you’ve lived with mortals — you’ve met your fair share of so-called ‘wise men’ in the past. You know how dangerous they are!”

“You just hate to be shown up. The idea that a mortal might exercise such learning and mastery that they could outshine even you—”

“That’s a baseless accusation. I spend enough time managing mortals just giving them the tools to keep themselves alive. I treat them as well as I can, I swear to it. You were too young, back then, to remember what it was like. At the end of so many timelines was when things we created learned how to be ambitious enough to...”

“To... what?”

Samothes sighed. “To hurt us. The gods who made them. The earth they lived on. Our father says he doesn’t care what I do with mortals, or learning, but… I did this to protect him, too. He has been harmed, before. He must have told you that.”

Samot looked at Samothes a long moment, then sighed and turned his face out towards the window again. “Yes, he has. But… I would gladly accept the risk, to let them learn again. To teach them myself, even.”

“You would truly teach them yourself?” Samothes asked even though he knew what the answer would be.

“Yes! About magic, and poetry… about music and love… about the way that gods put life into the world, and the terrible void from which we all came, and wine and celebration and books — all sorts of things, Samothes, my love, just listen to me — they should know. They should be able to learn about the world and learn about themselves, too. Samothes, you spend all your time here inside, and as much as I love to see you in our bed or the way your focus takes a precision as fine as a blade over the forge — you haven’t walked among mortals, not really. You didn’t let them shape you. You didn’t let them make you more than just a shadow, more than a feral child, haven’t entrusted them with the future of your soul, and yes that was a risk, but it was a risk I wanted to take! Please, Samothes — do you love me?”

Samothes gazed upon Samot’s sudden passion with wonder, so it took him a moment to respond. It was one thing to find Samot’s drawings, another entirely to see the way his eyes sparked with joy when he spoke. “Y-yes, of course. Without question.”

“Would you let me build a school?”

Samothes could only stammer in response. Samot softened again, to see his husband at a loss for words.

“I know, I’m not being fair, to ask if you love me and then ask you to abandon a decision you’ve stood by all this time. I’ve… held my tongue for a long time, because of that.”

“I know,” Samothes said.

They both fell silent then, and Samot gazed across the room at his husband. He was a proud man, but Samot was proud too.

“I’ll compromise with you, it can all be under your supervision, if it would put your mind at ease. I can manage the students. But I’ve dreamed of it for a long time.”

Samothes met the intensity of Samot’s gaze then. It made his heart ache to think that he would be the one to take this dream of Samot’s away, all because he was — what? Afraid? Controlling? Some combination of the two? Could their relationship survive that?

What was the worst that could happen? If it went wrong, Hieron could be reset again. Samot would see the error of his ways, and then it would pass. And if it went well… Well. It seemed unlikely. 

“I’ll have to think about it,” Samothes replied.

*

Years passed, as years were nothing to gods. The conversation would come up over and over, in one form or another. They spent as much time apart as they did together, both of them taxed with the responsibilities of their own kingdoms. Samot more often paid visits to Samothes’ kingdom than Samothes did to the Plains of Celebration, but whenever Samot came the two of them would still while away the hours long into the night together, catching up on all the things that could not be conveyed through letters. 

Sometimes, Samothes hoped that Samot had forgotten about schools — _the_ school — but he knew that it was foolish. Samot’s desire only grew despite Samothes’ avoidance.

On a muddy spring day, Samot’s carriage pulled up to the entrance of Samothes’ volcanic palace, pulled by two white horses. Belying the grace of his accoutrements, Samot eagerly scrambled out of his carriage and threw himself into Samothes’ arms, laughing with the pleasure of seeing his husband again.

“It’s been too long,” Samot said, running fingers through Samothes’ hair and kissing him, over and over. “Oh, I missed you.”

“I missed you,” Samothes replied, grinning as he swept Samot up into his arms. His husband’s feet need not touch the ground with him around. “Samot, I have a surprise for you.”

Samot smiled, giving Samothes a sly look. “My, what could it be?”

Samothes laughed. “It’s not what you’re thinking. Let’s go to my workshop.”

And bearing Samot in his arms, Samothes brought Samot down to his workshop and sat him down at his bench and showed him a pile of clay.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Samot asked, examining it from all sides to try and decipher his husband’s intent.

“I wanted to show you how to make a brick,” Samothes replied, although he faltered mid-sentence. This was it, he couldn’t take back what he gave Samot today.

“Oh, well — I would love to learn, of course, but right _now_ …?”

“I thought you might want to make the first brick personally… for your school.”

“For…?” Samot trailed off in astonishment as he processed Samothes’ words. “For my school.” 

Emotions flashed over his face in rapid succession — surprise, confusion, then a joy so great and buoyant that it caused tears to well up in his eyes. “Samothes, you — you really mean it?”

“I do.”

*

Samot made the first brick for the First University, and although his hands were inexperienced he placed in it his confidence, his joy, his love of knowledge and his desire to spread it to the people. From a being of shadow, to this.

Although Samothes could have erected a building in a single act of divine magic, they instead took the slow route, together. The two of them spent many days and nights poring over plans, as Samothes guided Samot through structural and architectural considerations, and with his steady hand made the diagrams and measurements that they would need. Slowly, Samot’s vision unfurled through stacks of drawings of diagrams, in pages upon pages of notes and considerations…

It was to be real, then. 

Samot proposed that they also recruit mortals to contribute to the building and planning, so that the school would truly be a place that took the considerations of mortals to heart. This took some persuasion, again, but Samothes had already come this far, hadn’t he? By the end of the year Samot had assembled a panel of trusted advisors, among them mortals he claimed to have learned form in the past. Samothes regarded them with suspicion, but so be it, this was his husband’s school. Samothes would simply draw the lines as Samot had imagined them and build the walls.

Samothes remembered, the trip that they took then to scout out the location. They rode there on horses rather than traveling by magic, because Samot wanted to see what the journey might be like for a mortal heading to school. Despite the days on the road Samot looked so resplendent on his white horse, and he was always eager to pick up their things and resume travel first thing in the morning, which was uncharacteristic of him. 

“We’ll have a road constructed, of course,” Samot said, as they traversed strange and sometimes difficult terrain. “I want roads from all of Hieron to lead to the University.”

“A distinction even your own kingdom does not have,” Samothes replied, thinking of the grassy and wild domain of Samot’s Plains of Celebration.

“Ah, well. This is different.”

But the journey was not so bad, the road from the City of Light did not require mountaineering, and eventually they arrived with their retinue and detailed notes on what it would take to build a road as well as the school.

Samot wanted his school in the geographical center of Hieron, of course, and Samothes remembered the look in Samot’s eyes as he’d gazed out upon the Hewed Peak that cast its long shadow over the central plains. The place where Samot had fought the wolf, so many years ago.

“It was there that I learned how to be a person instead of Nothing,” Samot said, shielding his eyes with his hand as he pointed out towards the mountain. He turned toward Samothes, smiling. “Now I want others to learn, too — everything that knowledge has to offer.”

Something stirred in Samothes’ heart — love, of course, but anxiety too, at Samot’s lofty words. But he simply agreed, and together they went to scout out what would be the grounds of the school.

Samothes remembered, when the two of them both grew tired of making measurements, that they laid down in the grass together and Samot spoke so excitedly of his school, of his grand visions, that Samothes could not help but kiss him until he grew distracted.

*

Over several years they made many trips to the site of the school, which was built partially by mortals, after Samothes had shown them the basics of construction (which he also had to be persuaded into, but Samot had been so joyful to see his husband in the act of teaching) — pouring concrete and laying bricks, and partially by Samothes’ hands and magic, to speed the process along. 

Samot oversaw closely each step of the process and managed the crews and councils and whatever other groups of mortals he had assembled to the tasks, and there were so many tasks when one was to build a school, the first school in Hieron. A school needed teachers, it couldn’t just be Samot, but people who were to become teachers had to be students first, and so Samot conducted his first classes in the half-finished courtyard, or merely just sitting upon some piles of bricks or in the grass, showing the brightest students he had collected how to — use magic, for one, but also more modest skills, although Samot would never describe them as such — how to write, how to research, how to be curious, how to make connections. Everything was a skill that could be honed, anything could be learned. That was what Samot said.

“We can open the school once this building is completed, I think,” Samot said, standing with Samothes in the main hall, which was fitted with long tables to allow the student body to assemble. Light fell in dappled patterns on his face as it streamed in through the unfinished ceiling. He was dressed in elegant white — Samothes had never seen him look less than elegant when he stood to teach mortals.

“You would be alright with that? Presenting it unfinished?”

“It would be a shame, to allow it to go empty so long as we work on building it. We’ve laid the foundation for people to live here, and I think some of my students may already be ready to teach — and I, of course, am tireless, as you know,” Samot added, a sly grin coming to his lips. Samothes laughed, fondly reaching out to pull his husband closer, a hand around his waist. “There may be other things that can wait until they are finished, and of course I am eager to present a polished appearance, most of the time… But this is too important to let wait in that way.”

“If that’s what you wish.”

“You don’t think it’s foolish, do you?”

“Would that stop you?”

Samot paused, anxiety creating a crease between his eyebrows. He looked pretty like that, too, but Samothes still regretted his careless words.

“I don’t think it’s foolish,” he said. “You’re right, it will be many years until we complete the whole structure. In the meantime there is work that can be done.”

“Samothes?”

“What is it?”

Samot squeezed his husband’s hand. “Thank you.”

*

In his memories of the school, Samothes saw it filled with students and workers, learning and construction happening in the same halls. Samot lectured in half-finished classrooms, he tutored on the benches in the courtyard, he taught in the towers and out in the gardens and on the green, at some point he did mostly paperwork but quickly tired of that and found some other people to do paperwork for him.

They were always in need of more people to build, to cook, to teach, to clean, the ecosystem of the school always changing. At first Samot oversaw the acquisition of new books but in due time they needed librarians, they needed scribes, they needed people to keep time and keep books. It was all the sort of complicated that Samothes had been reluctant to allow mortals to achieve, all the little skills that went into bureaucracy, all made to seem so important by the brief span of a mortal life. 

When they finally unfurled the flags on the towers, they showed the symbol of Samot and Samothes together. A cup, in front of a book, inscribed inside a circle surrounded by the rays of the sun. Their banner flew in red and gold.

Seeing that flag fluttering in the wind, atop the tall spires that he had helped to build, Samothes felt the breath catch in his throat. It was complete.

“It’s beautiful,” Samot said, as they stood in the courtyard. Passersby would occasionally turn to look at them, but the two gods together were a common enough sight here that most of the students and workers simply bustled past them.

“It is,” Samothes agreed. “I… almost don’t know what to do with myself now.”

“Oh?”

“Samot... Maybe this is strange, but… even looking at the sun in the sky I rarely feel this proud.”

Samot laughed, a clear peal of delight that caused several people to turn towards them, looking for the source of such a beautiful sound. “Oh, Samothes, could you know how happy I am to hear that? It is our school, and you should be proud. There are so many stones in the walls that you carried yourself, bricks that you made, beams that you set, concrete you poured — and yet I still worried that maybe you only did it because I asked, and nothing more.”

“Sometimes I told myself that too,” Samothes admitted.

“But it isn’t true, is it? Is it that you’re not just proud for me, you’re proud of yourself too?”

“Yes, I… think so.”

Samot smiled, and took Samothes’ hand in his, tugging him toward the entrance of the school. “Let’s take a look around, then. _Our_ school.”

*

Could Samothes recall, which parts of the school that Samot loved the most? 

Scattered around the campus were multiple libraries, located inside buildings dedicated to the relevant subjects. The library of magical theory was — tall, filled with floor to ceiling shelves that went up several stories, and heavy with the weight of dark sturdy wood. Stained glass windows were laid in slits up between the shelves, giving the library a kaleidoscopic quality when the sun shone on the tower just so. And the inside was lit generously always with lanterns that shed a magical light, floating along the stairwell and the stacks.

Here, one might find Samot himself, surrounded by his best students, his disciples, books and glasses of wine scattered before them on one of the many large tables. One did not have to look hard to see what furniture Samothes had made; the delicacy and precision of his divine hand shone through even in simple objects. Perhaps a little selfishly (as he would himself admit), Samot put many of his husband’s pieces in his own favorite places.

There was Samot’s office, where he could occasionally be found working on a lesson plan or a poem, reading a manuscript or marking student essays. His sturdy wooden desk was one that Samothes had fashioned, with plenty of space in the built-in drawers and shelves for Samot to store his things, according to his own exacting standards of organization. Samothes liked to stand in the doorway and watch Samot, the way his hair would fall around his face and be illuminated by the light of the lanterns as he worked late into the night. 

He did not keep many books in his office, as he believed they were better off in the libraries and classrooms where students could actually find them, but he had a few favorites on the shelf, as well as the carefully sorted letters that he received there, trinkets that he received from his husband and others who held him in high regard, and little paintings that he himself had made. 

There was the lecture hall that Samot favored, that was outfitted with many tiered rows of comfortable seats and long strips of desks, with cubbies underneath for students to stash their books and pens. Tall arched windows and detailed stone columns lent the room a stately air, and the whole thing was structured just so, so that a lecturer standing at the podium might only raise their voice slightly and be heard by attendees in the back. Many a student had watched Samot there pacing around the lectern, animatedly pulling students into a discussion about magic, or literature, or whatever else he saw fit to teach.

“You’ve come to watch me teach quite a few times now,” Samot said, as his students emptied out from the room after a lecture. Samothes sat all the way in the back row, so that he could watch but not be too distracting with his presence.

“You have an entrancing way of lecturing,” Samothes replied. “No one else is quite so good.”

“Perhaps the other professors were merely nervous that you were watching.”

“Oh, so I don’t make you nervous?”

Samot laughed. “Perhaps you did, long ago. But I think we’re quite past that, my love. What did you think? Do you have any critique?”

Samothes thought for a moment. “I don’t think you should look so beautiful when I’m not there to see you.”

“Real critique, please,” Samot said, although his lips still quirked into a smile.

“What critique could I have? You are _the_ teacher, here.”

“That does not make me so—” Samot paused mid-protest, overcome by some other and more brilliant idea. “You could teach,” he said, earnestly. “You taught me — you always have so much to say, and you demonstrate such creativity when you’re working on some invention or another. There could be mortal engineers in your image. Of course they are not divine, but I think they would surprise you with their ability.”

Samothes frowned. “I think that would be beyond me. Teaching, I mean.”

“You’ve gotten me to understand various engineering concerns before. Just try it, Samothes! One semester! You are a god, so it would pass in the blink of an eye.”

Just as he had allowed himself to be talked into many things before, Samothes allowed himself to be talked into one semester of teaching — just a small handful of students, Samot insisted, he would pick some who would not be overly intimidated by the king-god’s demeanor, and they would set up a workshop for Samothes to teach in. 

So it was that Samothes had a forge mundane at the First University before he ever had one in his volcanic palace in the City of Light. For the first couple of classes Samot came to oversee, so that Samothes would not forget that mortals did not have his divine abilities, and that they _certainly_ couldn’t touch the hot iron with their bare hands. At first this was frustrating to Samothes, but he adjusted more quickly than he imagined, working _with_ his mortal students to devise solutions for their limitations, rather than just thrusting his solutions upon them, and he almost found that he liked it. Never mind that the class soon became popular with people who simply wanted to watch Samot and Samothes play-bicker with each other in front of the anvil.

It somehow felt okay, because it was there.

The walls and spires of that school were a separate world from Hieron, Samothes felt, sometimes. Within that campus was like — a sandbox for Samot’s ideas, that flourished because they were contained there. The gardens and greenhouses, the libraries, the study halls, the galleries where students hung their art, the halls where they performed, the laboratories and classrooms, the cafeteria and workshop and the campus green… Samothes came to love that walled garden, almost as much for its own sake as it was for the love of Samot.

*

One day, early in the morning, Samot and Samothes walked together in the campus gardens, admiring the new specimens of grapes that the viticulture students were breeding. The experimental wine cellar at the University was one of its kind in Hieron — just how Samot liked it. As he watched Samot peer through the plants, Samothes felt overcome by a romantic mood, and he pulled Samot back to him by the waist and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“You’re different, when you’re here, my love.”

Samot smiled, fondness sparkling in his eyes. “Am I?”

“Every moment so passionate and alive,” Samothes said, smiling as he ran a thumb along Samot’s cheekbone. “You were never a morning person before.”

“Well — there is so much to do.” A pause, as Samot’s eyes wandered up to the spires of the buildings behind them, a breath caught in his chest. “I’m so glad you’re here, Samothes. Perhaps, in some other life, I would have lost my patience and started a school without you, but it makes all the difference in the world for you to be by my side.”

“I know. You convinced me.”

“My light,” Samot murmured, holding Samothes’ face in his hands as he turned to kiss him. “My heart is so, so full.”


End file.
